The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 20:18:47 -

The Distant Wound

The dream was always the same, a loop of static and bone. I stood in the kitchen of our old house on Sycamore Lane, the one with the peeling wallpaper that looked like dead skin, and the air smelled of copper. Not blood, not exactly, but the metallic tang of a coin held too long in a clenched fist. My hands were full of it. I kept pouring it out onto the floor, onto the linoleum, but it didn’t...

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